Carefully, This Spark
by tala-hiding
Summary: Hermione Granger learns the true nature of fire.


**Title**: Carefully, This Spark

**Rating**: M

**Timeline**: Post-_Deathly Hallows_, immediately after Voldemort's fall.

**Pairing/s**: Ron/Hermione, slight Harry/Ginny (blink and you'll miss it)

**Summary**: Hermione Granger learns the true nature of fire.

**Author's Note**: Written for the R/HR Smutfest 2011 over at Livejournal. :) This is my first time writing for the Harry Potter fandom, so please be nice. :)

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><p>1.<p>

Hermione Granger understands fire. After all, she is the only one in her class able to produce waterproof bluebell flames that she carefully tended in mason jars in her dormitory room. She wishes she was like the other girls, who tended to more feminine elements - water, earth - but her magic is helplessly drawn to the bright orange embers of the common room fire, the fiery red of her Gryffindor scarf, the vibrant conflagration of Ron Weasley's hair.

2.

If she were to pick a spell she secretly enjoys, it would have been _incendio_. Unlike Muggle fire, which was a wild and wanton creature, magic fire was controlled, careful. In Defense, they are taught protective measures against flames; magic is never mightier than the element they controlled. Hermione's eyes dance in the light as she casts her first _incendio_. The heat feels like a lover's caress, like coming home.

3.

After the war, all Hermione wants to do is to stand underneath the spray of the shower until every last bit of ash and char on her skin is washed down the drain. Even under the pounding pressure of the water, she refuses to close her eyes - beneath the darkness lay bright jets of burning light, magic crackling in the air as Harry makes his last stand. She remembers her heart, pounding like an army of drums, as the Elder Wand soars high against the sky, the reverberations of _Avada Kedavra_ still lingering beneath their feet. She never realizes the rips in her jumper or the gashes on her legs until she had fled, hiding inside the girls' bathroom in the Gryffindor dormitories, trying her damnest not to cry.

The door to the bathroom opens but she is as still as a statue, quiet as a ghost. She feels the embers of her magic flickering inside her, trying to reach out to whoever was on the other side of the curtain.

"Hermione?"

It is a familiar voice, deep and comforting, like a winter's fire flickering in the grate. Shivering, she peers out of the shower stall, making sure that the curtain covers her from the neck down.

"I'm here."

Relief washes over his bright blue eyes. He is still wearing his grimy clothes, and seems to only belatedly realize that he is standing in the bathroom at the girls' dormitory and the only thing that separates the two of them is the opaque shower curtain that is now wrapped beneath Hermione's arms as she stares at Ron, her face pale and ashen, her dark hair dripping down her back in wet curls. Her lips burn at the memory of his kiss in the Room of Requirement.

"Ron, I - " She isn't sure what to say, although she can feel her hands trembling as she clutches the inadequate covering around her body tighter. She doesn't know what she wants, except she knows her body is craving warmth and comfort, and somehow, she realizes that Ron is aware of the palpable electricity in the air, because he moves towards her, his movements quick and lithe. He still smells of ashes and grime, and his cheeks are dirt-stained and tear-streaked, and before she can say anything, he folds her to his chest, his arms around her, enveloping her. There is a hum of magic in the air as she breathes deeply. She is naked and wet in a boy's arms, and yet she feels... safe.

"Oh, love," she hears him breathe into the shell of her ear, and she looks up, and there is a flame in his eyes, burning blue and clean, and she can't help but be drawn to it, a moth to the fire, and before she can control herself, she lifts her hand up and clasps his nape to pull him down, and oh, there it is: his lips meet hers and she whimpers slightly as his mouth opens and he is kissing her, truly kissing her, taking away all the heaviness and sorrow and pain that seemed to burrow in her body for the past few months.

Ron breaks off their kiss, breathless. His jumper is now wet, aside from being dirty and ragged, and he peels it off and throws it on the tiled floor. His lean body is riddled with bruises and scars, his pale skin marred with wounds. There is a fleeting voice at the back of her head, a whisper of warning, but she banishes it. The muddled thoughts in her mind have now coalesced. She is aware of what she wants. She steps back, absently tracing her own scar down her chest, from Dolohov's curse a few years ago - a few lifetimes ago - and her cheeks flush, wondering how ugly Ron must think she is.

But instead of moving away, Ron steps closer to her, so she can feel the heat coming from his skin. He reaches out and runs his hands up and down her shoulders and arms, his fingers gentle and curious. "Are you sure?" he asks her quietly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Because I can leave now. We can wait, Hermione. I don't want you... I don't want you to have any regrets being with me."

Hermione's eyes widen in disbelief. "Regrets?" she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper. Ron is tracing absent patterns on her skin and his touch echoes across her entire body. "Ron, I don't... I _can't_ have anyone else," she says, her voice fierce. "You're it for me."

Ron laughs. "Reckon it's the same."

"I'm... " She flushes again, and wonders why she had suddenly become so shy. "I'm ready, Ron. I wasn't sure what I needed tonight, but seeing you, here, I finally figured it out."

His hands travel up the length of her neck and bury themselves in her hair as he tugged her towards him for a searing kiss, one that leaves her weak-kneed and gasping for breath. Before she could even think, her own hands are running up and down his back, seeking purchase as he pushes her into the shower stall, his lips never leaving hers. She does not know when they have learned this tangle of tongues dancing and mouths moving across each other in perfect patterns, only that she does not want him, ever, to stop.

She slips slightly on the wet floor and Ron chuckles in her mouth as he pushes her against the wall, his hips flush against hers. Her fingers seek the edge of his jeans, un-looping his belt and unsnapping his fly as she impatiently pushes his jeans down his legs. He is warm and strong above her, his lips running down the curve of her neck as his arms grasp her waist and leverages her against the wall while he kicks off his jeans. Now they are skin to skin, the friction palpable between their bodies, and Hermione knows that soon, in the future, she would be able to study him at her leisure, but now she just wants to burn in his arms.

Ron closes his lips around the juncture between her neck and shoulder blades, his teeth marking her as she shudders against him. This is her first time with a man, any man, without any clothes as a barrier, and she is surprised at the reactions her body is making. There is a part of her that is frightened that he will push her away; a stronger, more insistent voice reminds her that this is _Ron_, and he will always, always come back for her.

Ron stares at her as moves downwards. "You're beautiful, Hermione," he whispers as he palms one breast and presses tender kisses across the curve of the other, following the edge of her scar. She almost weeps at the reverent tone of his voice, and the tears quickly turn into a latent burn at the pit of her stomach as he wraps a hand around her breast and tugs gently, pulling the tip into his mouth. She gasps as electricity cracks through her body, her toes curling with pleasure as he suckles first one nipple, then the next. Before she could control herself, her hands are already fisting his crimson hair, keeping his head steady at her breast.

Moving downwards, his hands grip the flesh of her hips and she can feel the evidence of his arousal against her lower belly. Curious, she moves her hands downwards to feel the length of him, and he groans against her skin as she grasps the base of his cock, impossibly large in her tiny hands, her fingers toying with the surprisingly soft surface of his balls. She strokes him once, twice, marveling at the girth and hardness of his cock, pleased at the contrast between the darkening skin and her own pale palm.

He hoists her up so that her own body is against him, his arms strong and steady as she wraps her own arms around his neck and hitches her knees around his waist. She can already feel the warmth trickling between her legs and she is shaky and nervous with pleasure. There is a mix of fear and wonderment in Ron's eyes as he carefully positions himself at her entrance; he thrusts gently and she feels his cock invade her body. It is strange and odd and yet, as he moves carefully out of her and then pushes in again, a bit deeper this time around, a pleasure that seems to burn in the deepest part of her starts building just at the junction where she and Ron are joined.

""Hermione." His voice is ragged and before she could completely understand the emotions cresting through her body, he is embedded inside her own skin, her own flesh and bones, and she crosses her ankles at the small of his back as he moves inside her. "Oh love," he half-cries, half-sobs as he stiffens and she feels him coming inside her, his cock pulsing against the sensitive walls of her cunt.

He presses his forehead against her, his breath hot against her skin. She feels him moving inside her, still half-hard. One arm supports her at the waist, pressing her back against the slick tile walls, his legs braced wide apart to support her weight; the other hand snakes between her legs, his deft fingers seeking her clit - that secret part of her that she would only touch in the darkness of the dormitories, her bed curtains charmed for silence. The slippery nub of flesh is swollen and smooth underneath Ron's fingers, and he experimentally strokes it, rubs it, matching his movements to her keening as she moves against him, seeking her own pleasure. The fire in her belly crackles and roars. She wants - no she needs -

"Ron - oh God!" she gasps as her orgasm overwhelms her, her body shuddering in his arms. She closes her eyes as she surrenders to the fire, to the flames that have always been a part of her.

4.

Harry sees them at breakfast the next morning, the Great Hall still crumbling and broken, whole chunks of the wall exposed to the elements. They sit at what used to be the Gryffindor tables, except that now they were joined by the other Weasleys, Luna, and the remains of Dumbledore's Army. Ron and Hermione sit at the edge, their hands entwined.

Harry raises a questioning eyebrow. Ron nods. "Pass me the toast, mate," he says, his hand still clasping Hermione's. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," teases Ginny, who is already seated closely beside Harry.

Hermione nodded as she takes a cup of coffee, the heat scalding her mouth. "Well, at least we know some things haven't changed," she chuckled as she sinks into the warmth of the company, of her friends, of the firm grip Ron had on her. She knows there is still a lot of work to be done, and that it is their responsibility to make sure that what they fought for - love, freedom, the chance to rebuild a better world - would be carried out. The spark is there. Now all they have to make sure is that it flourishes, grows, becomes the fire that fuels the future.

_Fin._


End file.
